The Rebirth of Raziel
by RazielLordOfSquirrels
Summary: After his supposed death upon the sword of Kain, former foe and now friend, Raziel finds himself awake and aware, in a part of Nosgoth he knows not of, with Sarafan soldiers but half a day away... but will he accept this life, or does he still want death?
1. Chapter 1

_As Kain's sword, the Soul Reaver, began to assimilate me into its cursed steel, I became confident that my oblivion was close at hand… the vampire Lord, the one that had had me cast into the Abyss to suffer eternal damnation, had turned from my enemy into my ally. But only for a few short moments, moments in which I realized the sacrifice I had to make to defeat the bane of all existence…_

_The Elder God, the self-proclaimed hub to the Great Wheel… I, Raziel, had once been his slave, her angel of destruction, charged with the task of purging the land from the immortal vampires, and gaining my revenge upon Kain…_

_I chased the vampire through space, time, through the tatters of my own heart, letting righteous anger blaze the trail ahead… I endured much pain, but conquered many foes. All between Kain and myself died at my hands… if you could call these damned claws hands…_

_I tore his heart from his breast once, a gory and satisfying victory… I had thought myself rid of the vampire, rid of my responsibilities. I stole the heart, and aided a vampire I indeed considered worthy to hold Kain's vampiric organ…_

_But I was betrayed, betrayed by the very being that had given me new life, and my hideous form._

_The Elder God was no true God… he was a squid, a parasite, who fed upon the souls of countless beings, and who was driven only by his own greed, his own gluttony. He had used me for so long, used me to gain his own wants, his own desires…_

_But I resisted. In the end, I forced Kain, a man I had presumed dead, to impale me upon his sword… in the moments it took the weapon to absorb my life spirit into it, we came to terms with our conflicts, and parted as friends._

_My story should have ended there. I should have been reduced to nothingness, my sacrifice so that Kain would have one last chance to strike down the true villain in this story._

_But, it did appear that that was not meant to be my path… My story was not finished just yet…_

_- - -_

Breathe in… breathe out… breathe in… breathe out…

Opening his eyes unsteadily, Raziel looked about unsteadily… for a moment his mind was fuzzy, memory blank… he could not quite recall who he was, where he was, what he was doing here…

Wherever this was, it was dark; a cavern of some kind, by the looks of it. The cold stone underneath his inhuman flesh was rocky and jagged, but when Raziel tried to shift his position, a wave of nausea overtook him, forcing him to remain still once more.

"Ah… you awake, no?" The guttural voice rang painfully in Raziel's ears, and he turned his head weakly. His eyes, which normally glowed with the fire of countless suns, were dull and flickering.

The oddest looking man stood crouched upon a rocky ledge, chin in hand. The man was filthy, and nearly bald, the only hair he did possess running down his back in long, greasy strands. He was covered in dirt, and only dressed in a rather skimpy loincloth… he was almost anorexic in his thinness, but what flesh he did have was obviously wiry muscle.

Raziel tried to speak, but little more than a low croak issued forth… he felt so weak… in fact, he was quite surprised that his body had not simply shifted back to the Spirit Plane…

Spirit Plane…

That simple thought suddenly brought forth a flood of memories… Kain… The Elder God… his own supposed death…

Shock made him sit straight up, but then the nausea overtook him once more and he fell on his side, retching.

The odd little man scampered forward, moving on all fours like some kind of animal… he limbs were quite agile, and he navigated the rocky plains with surprising ease… "Stay still. Weakness fills you. Nourishment you must have…"

It was then that Raziel, through his pain-ridden gaze, saw that the man carried with him a bowl, a rough wooden one… he could not see what was in it, but he did not need to. Despite his weariness, he chuckled wryly as the man attempted to push it towards him, managing to croak out a few words; "My… needs… different…"

"Life force, not food," The man urged, pushing the bowl forward again. Then he scampered back, watching the Wraith cautiously.

Raziel managed to lift his head a few inches, peering over the edge of the bowl… indeed, it was filled with a deep blue liquid, one that seemed to glow softly… that glow was warm, comforting, and it seemed to call to Raziel. Raziel had seen a substance like this in his travels through Nosgoth… but he wondered where this man had obtained it.

Lifting his hand to his mouth, he could not help but feel amusement that the sash that covered the deformed lower half of his face was still intact… it had virtually become a part of his being by now…

Lowering it, he opened his hideous jaws, one seriously overlapping the other. When he did so, he took in a deep breath, focusing upon the purified soul energy. He could see the liquid stir in response, then rise from the bowl, projecting itself down his throat and into his body.

As he absorbed it, Raziel felt the nausea fade and life spring back into his limbs… such a small amount of soul liquid had considerably rejuvenated his needs, and after he raised his sash again, he rolled to his feet, looking about the cave, eyes glowing with new power.

The man watched him, remaining crouched on the ground. His eyes were slightly narrowed as he waited, watching Raziel test his limbs.

Raziel felt wonderful… in fact, he didn't remember ever feeling this good in quite a long time… he had officially died twice, and yet for some reason he kept feeling better after every death… it was very puzzling, to be honest.

"Thank you," He finally said, bowing to the odd man. He received a grunt in return, and then nearly fell over in surprise as the man sprang up into the air, flipping in an agile somersault and landing back on the rock some seven feet away.

"Who are you?" Raziel asked curiously, approaching slowly… what an odd little man…

"I Zanarath," The man replied, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Me Man-Wraith."

"You're a- a what?" The blue demon was feeling quite confused at this point…

"Man-Wraith… me strong and fast, me live in real world, not silly boring fake one."

"Ah." That was pretty much all he could think of in response to that… from what he could gather, however, this man was some sort of Wraith that resided in the Material Plane instead of the Astral one… of course, he could just be an insane old man…

But that leap had been beyond what a human was capable of…

"How did I arrive here, precisely?" He asked after a moment, curiosity filling him. The last he had remembered was Kain's sword absorbing him into its blade…

"Me hunt in spirit world…" Zanarath replied gruffly, scurrying down the rock. "Me see you floating for afterlife… me take you and bring you here…"

But that made no sense… Raziel had assumed he would be absorbed entirely into the sword… unless…

Lifting his hand, he clenched it slightly, attempting to call upon his Wraith Blade. Normally, such an action would have formed a sword of fire upon his arm, one that could slice through flesh and soul alike…

But this time, there was nothing. Not so much as a flicker… and he did not even feel the usual hunger that the Wraith Blade normally gave off, the need for souls. Truth be told, he knew not whether to be disappointed, or relieved… on the one hand, the blade had been a powerful weapon… on the other, it had once tried to absorb Raziel's own soul…

But now he was starting to piece together what must have happened… the sword had not absorbed Raziel himself, just stripped him of the Wraith Blade, thus giving Kain the power to fight with the Elder God… but the strain had driven Raziel's soul towards the afterlife… but then Zanarath had given Raziel what strength he needed to come back to the land of the living…

He looked at Zanarath, wondering if this was necessarily a good thing… once upon a time, he would have embraced death with open arms. Were his wishes so different now?

"Why… did you bring me back?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Sarafan come. They try to take my home, to burn me. I stop them, but they come back soon. Help I need. I hear of you, Reaver who end Sarafan lives, you strong." Scurrying forward, Zanarath tugged at Raziel's arm, a pleading look upon his dirty face. "Help?"

Raziel considered it… then nodded. This man had saved his life, the least he could do was return the favour. "I will help you. Do you know when the Sarafan will arrive?"

"Soon… rest of their patrol leave many suns ago… two suns at most before bad men come back…"

Raziel nodded grimly, sighing. His task was not yet finished… it appeared that he had at the very least one more path to walk before he could find his eternal rest. If eternal rest was indeed the path he wished…

Such confusing times…

- - -

The cave led out onto a rocky ledge, one some five or six dozen feet above the ground. Down below, sparse grasses stuck up from the ground here and there, but there was mostly rocks and dirt. The only way up was a narrow path, one that spiralled around the cliff face.

Looking out towards the horizon, where the sun could be seen poking lazily, preparing to enter into its nightly slumber, Raziel took a deep breath. Though he didn't need to breathe, technically, he found the action to be quite comforting; it almost seemed to clear his head.

"Right then…" He murmured, stretching. After a moment, he lightly tried to balance himself upon one clawed foot. In the past, he could have done so with ease, but he was still weakened, and wavered upon his tedious position.

Shaking his head, feeling mild disappointment at that, he considered perhaps slipping into the Astral Plane and feeding there… but no… since the Elder God had collapsed the spectral gates, the only way he could return to the Material Plane was by possessing the bodies of the dead… and there was a good chance that there would not be a corpse anywhere for miles in this barren place.

Experimentally, Raziel settled into a defensive stance, honing his concentration. He attempted a few snapping punches, and though they sliced through the air with dazzling speed, it was still too slow…

A spin kick nearly made him fall over…

After the fifth failed uppercut, Raziel could feel frustration build inside of him… it had been too long, much too long! He had weakened, lost much of his power, and that simply would not do.

Growling, he turned and leaped, clinging to the rocky wall with his claws. The leap, he could not help but notice, was only seven feet high; he needed to grow more accustomed to his body, to regain his old strength.

Scaling the wall like a blue spider, Raziel ascended to the top in a few seconds, pulling himself over the cliff and resting on his knees. His chest heaved lightly as his head remained bowed.

He would need to conserve his strength somehow… he could not risk returning to the Astral Plane yet, and so would probably be weakened even more by the time the soldiers of the Sarafan arrived…

Unless perhaps he struck first…

The thought came unbidden to him, and for a moment Raziel wondered where it had come from. But then his conscious mind focused on what his subconscious had already seen; a flash of metal in the corner of his eye. It was some distance away, but his sharp eyes were easily able to discern the shapes of individual men… and there… a campfire was being prepared…

The Sarafan were here…

Despite their relative proximity, the rough terrain would still make any journey they could hope to attempt here take another half-day or so… but if Raziel could reach them first, he could have a chance to feed, and to regain his full strength…

Reaching behind him, he lightly tugged at his ruined wings, which had for a long time been but useless flaps of skin, good only for a painfully slow float upon the air… but maybe, if he could adjust his posture, he could sacrifice altitude for speed?

Raziel did not worry about the fall if he failed; theoretically, he could fall from the stars themselves and suffer no injury from it. And so, feeling a touch bold, he stood quietly, facing the gleam of metal. Taking a few steps back, he gave himself a running start, taking another deep, cleansing breath before launching himself from the edge.

Clawed hands gripped at the fabric of his limp wings, stretching them out like the folds of a cloak. He could feel the pressure of the air under his stretched flesh as he hovered slowly, beginning to drift sluggishly towards the ground far below.

Before he had even dipped below the ledge, however, he forced his body up, making it sure it stayed parallel to his wings. Even weakened, his body was more than strong enough to hold this position indefinitely as he angled his wings…

Already his speed began to increase, the wind whistling through Raziel's ears as he swooped forward, a blue man-bird that rocketed through the sky. He dropped at a fair pace as well, but with his momentum, he moved forward sixty feet for each foot that he dropped, and he was moving at well over ten feet per second…

Despite this, it took him many minutes to get near the camp, and by the time he did he was only about twenty feet above the ground. The sky had darkened completely, making his approach an invisible one, but he could see the large number of soldiers easily, perhaps four dozen in all…

He felt a bit worried at that… even at full strength, four dozen would be difficult to survive through, and he could not risk losing the body he possessed…

It was then, though, that he saw the small patrols circulating the area a few dozen feet away from the main group; each were travelling in solo scouting parties, and they did not even have so much as a torch… it was likely that they were low on such supplies, and did not really expect much resistance this far out in the middle of nowhere anyway…

Raziel's vision, however, could see them perfectly…

Raziel knew that he would have to be quick; one warning shout from a single scout could bring all the others upon him, and while he could glide quite quickly, he had no way of flying up…

Turning his shoulder, he brought himself about to soar towards one of the Sarafan guards, adjusting the angle of his wings so that he could drop more quickly. When he was but five feet above the ground, and six feet from the soldier, he released his wings, flipping it midair and bringing his feet to bear.

The guard found himself unable to murmur, let along shout, when two clawed feet slammed into his back with astounding force, knocking both attacker and victim a good seven feet through the air. Both landed in a pile, the blue Wraith recovering first.

Quickly slamming his clawed hand into the man's chin, the blow tore a good chunk of flesh from the soldier's face, causing him to give a small squeak of pain. Anything louder was impossible, he diaphragm and lungs compressed by Raziel's knees.

Two more blows, swift right and left hooks, took all the fight out of the man, causing him to go limp. It was then, but a few dozen feet from the comforting light of the Sarafan campfire, that Raziel pulled down his sash and began to feed.

The energy that flooded his body caused his muscles to twitch and jerk, a bloodlust that he had not felt in a long time coming over him… he had first felt it when he had first fed upon the corrupted force of a vampire, and now his heart thudded in his ribcage once more as a thin stream of energy linked he and his prey.

Once the man was good and dead, his body drained of what had once driven it, Raziel got back to his feet, moving silently across the rocky terrain. He kept his eyes narrowed to limit the glow they gave off, and with a predatory determination he stalked the remaining patrols, not even bothering to replace his sash after every feeding. For a brief hour, he was no longer the civilized Raziel; he was a hunter, and they were his food…

Once every soldier on the outer perimeter lay dead, Raziel took a deep breath, standing up from his latest victim. A quick glance at the camp showed that no one was the wiser; any who did not sleep merely chatted, or stared at the fire dully…

From the last soldier he killed, Raziel took his spear and sword, deciding that with the loss of the Wraith Blade, he would need something to supplement his fighting style. His muscles no longer felt any weakness or uncertainty, and as he moved away from the camp, back towards the cliff, he ran as silently as the wind, and just as swift…

In half a day, the Sarafan would be there, in force.

Raziel would be ready for them.


	2. Chapter 2

((Sorry for taking an insane amount of time, guys, stuff came up. ; ))

The meeting began upon the cliff face.

The atmosphere was tense, and for good reason. Five soldiers stood on one side, four of them framing a heavily armored man, one who wore the engravings of high rank upon his breastplate. All five of them kept their hands upon their sheathed weapons, glaring at the other end of this little negotiation.

On the other end, an equally odd looking party glared back. Zanarath, dressed in his usual sparse attire, moved anxiously from foot to fist, hunched over like a gorilla as wiry muscles quivered slightly. He glared at the party with animalistic hatred, snarling slightly under his breath.

The second was calmer, steadier, but twice as frightening. Raziel's glowing eyes did not flicker, his blue-tinted form did not budge, his clawed hands hanging loosely at his side, still stained with the dried blood of the unfortunate patrols from the night before. His posture was also slightly hunched, though it was much straighter than that of the man-wraith, and perhaps it was for this reason that the five soldiers paid the most attention to him, though it was Zanarath they had come to kill.

The commander of the Sarafan mercenaries spoke, his voice deep, yet cultured. "When I was told that our task was to cleanse this cliffside of a corrupted creature, I had never expected to find two beasts that needed extermination."

"Well, circumstances can change," Raziel replied, eyes narrowing. "For example, another change would be the one in which you do not exterminate anything."

"What, begging for mercy?" The commander was quick to demand, his chest already starting to puff out slightly.

"No, just granting a bit of advice," Raziel replied amiably, hands behind his back. "So you can live to see retirement."

"We Sarafan do not_ retire," _the commander spat in reply, puffing out his chest.

"True," Raziel mused over that, then shrugged and continued cheerfully; "I guess you just die, then."

Stepping forward until he was nose to... erm... face with Raziel, the large man tried his best to look threatening, but he nonetheless seemed a bit unnerved by the fire burning in the wraith's eyes and the sash obscuring much of his face. "You shall burn in the fires of eternity, or my name is not Geron!"

"Oh, is that what your name is?" Raziel asked mildly, blinking. "I can certainly see why you'd be so angry at the world, then."

"You forget that we outnumber you!" Came the heated reply, and Geron took a step forward, trying to force Raziel back. When the demon did not give any ground, the mercenary was forced to back up himself. "There are ten more men awaiting my command down below!"

"Yes, and there used to be fifteen, at least until that unfortunate nighttime incident," Raziel replied innocently, tilting his head. "Whittled down the numbers a bit, did it not?"

There was a long pause. "It was _you!"_

Raziel lifted an eyebrow, scoffing slightly. "Well, what did you think it was? A particularly strong wind? Honestly, did you think your little camp so untouchable, out there in the open with a fire beckoning brighter than any beacon?"

Geron's four escorts were paling noticably, something that their commander noticed. Evidentially trying bravery for their sake, he stepped forward once more, hand on his sword pommel heroically. "Your own blood shall spill to pay for the lost lives of our bretheren!"

Raziel didn't answer, at least not with words. Rather, he just drew his palm inward slightly, focused, and then pushed his hand forward, releasing a jet of telekinetic energy. It was an inherent ability that, fortunately, he had not lost along with the Wraith Blade.

Warping space as it traveled the five feet between the two men, the blast struck Geron in his breastplate, denting it considerably. The man emitted a squack as he went hurling back through the air, nearly hitting the ground. Immediately all four escorts caught him, stumbling back slightly under their commander's bulk. One tripped on a loose stone, however, and a moment later all five of them landed flat on their backs, Geron on top the lot of them.

Raziel and the man-wraith beside him watched, both laughing, as the four escorts pried themselves from under their leader, spun on heel and fled down the ledge, tripping over themselves in their haste to get away. Geron took a bit longer to get to his feet, weighed down by his armor, but after a venemous look at Raziel, he also turned and fled.

"They gone now?" Zanarath asked, looking up at Raziel.

"No, they will return soon enough," Raziel replied, turning away and stepping into the cave they shared. "And in force. Fortunately, it is likely that their commander will be so ticked off, he'll make a mistake... or several."

As it turns out, he was right on both counts. It was less than an hour before five men came charging up the cliffside, evidentially to test their strength. Raziel and Zanarath, the former battling with the spear he had pilfered and the latter with his sharp nails, teeth and strength, had succeeded in killing one and sending the other fleeing back down the cliff once more, sporting various deep gashes and bruises. Raziel fed on the vanquished foe, gaining more strength for the next attack.

The second attack did not come for another three hours, and this time it was a bit more cautious, and with thirteen of the remaining fourteen men, including Geron. On the one hand, the slower approach of the forces made it less likely that Raziel and Zanarath would be able to launch a surprise attack, but on the other, both demonic beings saw them coming long before they arrived.

Night was once more beginning to fall as Raziel and Zanarath crouched in their cave, hidden behind a rocky protrusion and listening to the approach of heavy boots. Both were tense, ready for battle, but the footsteps halted just outside the cave entrance, going no further. It was then that Raziel realized their plan; they were just going to wait them out...

Another few hours went by, the sounds of armor and conversation so close, and more than once Zanarath tried to leap out of the cave and attack. But Raziel restrained him, knowing that they would both be scewered the moment they stepped out.

Still, it was hard for him. Seated deep in the cave, his breathing slow, he could already feel the hunger in him beginning to mount, his body starting to weaken. Without any fresh soul energy to absorb, his stores of strength were dwindling, bit by bit, his senses becoming less sharp and his movements less coordinated. Soon he would lose his strength all together.

Whether he would die, or just slip into the spirit world when that happened was unknown, but either way he would be useless without a...

"Oh God," He murmured, sitting up straighter.

"What?" Zanarath asked. The man-wraith did not seem weakened at all, despite the fact that he was without nourishment as well. "What wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, except for my own latent stupidity," Raziel muttered, shaking his head. "I'll be back in a moment, I promise."

And, before Zanarath's very eyes, his body crumbled into dust.

Renin, honored fighter of mercenary of the great Sarafan order, found himself with the safest, and yet least prestigious task. While his bretheren went to cleanse this area of the filth that lived in the cavern above, he was stuck with purifying the corpses of their fallen bretheren, the ones that had been lost to one of the creatures above.

He had already purified all but one of the corpses, the flames that consumed them flickering as the smell of burning flesh was partially drowned out by the sweet smelling oils they had been douced in. Tending to the last one, he placed a small drop of the oil upon the forehead of the last corpse, shut its eyes, then looked up at the nearly-set sun as he began to speak the final Rites.

"And may the purity of Moebius reach into the soul of our Bretheren and bring him to the place of Balance, and so his great sacrifice may be rewarded until time ends and the universe falls to dust. The oils symbolize the purity of his death, whilst the fires consume the sins of those that killed him."

The final Rite complete, his took a torch and prepared to ignite the corpse... but then he noticed something peculiar.

The eyes had opened again. In fact, they appeared to almost be staring straight at him.

"What in the name of the Elder-?"

It was then that cold, clammy fingers wrapped about his throat, the corpse sitting up with new life. But as it moved, its skin seemed to flake off, revealing new flesh underneath. The fingers seemed to grow in strength, cutting off his air as they squeezed mercilessly.

The last thing Renin saw before death claimed him was the face of his bretheren crumble, revealing flaming blue eyes underneath...

"Do you surrender, Abomination?" Geron called into the cave, a few of his men surrounding him, others further down the path. All were armed with pikes, facing the entrance as well as they prepared to slaughter anything that emerged. "Give up now and I will pray to the Elder God for your sake."

There was an odd noise behind him- a whimper?- but he was too focused on the cave entrance to pay much attention to it, wanting nothing more than to sink his spear into both of their fleshes and claim their carcasses as his trophies.

"What say you?" He asked, and again there was a noise, this one a gurgle. He almost turned around, but then he saw movement in the cave, movement that took his full attention. He could see the despicable little man, the one they had come to eliminate, clamber out, his posture hunched as he glared at Geron with... amusement?

"Surrender, creature, and your death will be swift." The commander said harshly, lifting his spear higher, even as he wondered where the man's accomplice was. "You and your fellow swine are outnumbered seven to one!"

"Actually," A dry voice spoke from behind him, a voice that made Geron's blood freeze in his veins. "It looks to me to be an even match."

Turning slowly, Geron beheld the carnage; all but one of his men dead, their throats and vocal cords slit, some missing entirely. He had no doubt that if he looked off the edge of the cliff, he would find them far below.

And there, in the center of the massacre, leaning in a bloodied sword, was this... this... _thing, _watching him calmly, smugly, coldly...

Immediately his last man lunged forward, pike raised, but a quick sidestep and slash sent the man falling to the ground, bloody spilling from a slash in his side. He tried to rise but then Zanarath was on him, snarling as he sunk his teeth into the soldier's neck, all while the commander of this supposed extermination watched, frozen... helpless.

"Then again," Raziel corrected himself. "I think we now have the advantage of numbers."

Then he leapt, sliced, and Geron saw no more.

"You sure you go?"

Raziel, who had been watching the rising sun, glanced at the man-wraith and nodded slightly, shrugging. "It seems the best thing to do. I have to see how long has past since I last drew breath, and how much has changed. Are you certain you will not come with me?"

Zanarath shook his head, giving a lopsided grin. "My home here. Be stupid to defend home then leave."

"I guess," Raziel mused, thinking over that. "It should be many months before that group is missed and the Sarafan send more mercenaries… hopefully I will have returned to help then as well. I look forward to seeing you some time in the future, my friend. I am certain our paths will cross once more, one day."

Squinting of into the distance, the direction that the Sarafan mercenaries had come from, he decided to retrace their path. It would lead to at least a facsimile of civilization.

"Live long," he said, smiling as best he could with his distorted features, then released his corporeal form, slipping into the spirit realm. The landscape distorted and grew harsher, and Zanarath faded into nothingness.

It may be many days before he found any signs of habitation, but, he mused to himself wryly, he had all the time in the Universe… perhaps he would even find Kain one day.

Taking three quick steps and launching himself off the cliff, he spread his tattered wings and sped through the silent void, an Angel of Vengence.

((That's not all, folks, keep tuned in for more installments. ))


End file.
